


Bedridden

by yodepalma



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Humor, Pre-Canon, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-06
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-29 22:28:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10145981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yodepalma/pseuds/yodepalma
Summary: Ignis is sick. Noctis is here to help."Why are you destroying my kitchen?""I'm notdestroying it," Noct denied as something bubbled over on the stove behind him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rhymeswithpi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhymeswithpi/gifts).



> Apparently A CERTAIN SOMEONE has declared they need more fluff. Well, my friend, YOU CAME TO THE RIGHT PLACE.
> 
> This was supposed to be Ignoct but Iggy was clearly too ill to cooperate. So it's just a little fluffy BROTP instead. Aren't I supposed to be in control of my characters? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Set some undefined period before the game starts. Just vague handwaving all over the place here, don't mind me.

_Bedridden_

Why did it smell like his entire kitchen was burning?

At least he _could_ smell it. Earlier that morning he hadn’t been able to smell anything at all, his nose so stuffed that even the thought of breathing through it was painful. It seemed to have cleared up a little bit now. Perhaps the medicine Gladio had brought him was useful after all; he’d have to remember to thank the man later. Right now, however, whatever had caught fire was probably more important.

He barely suppressed a groan as he levered himself into a seated position and stared blearily at his floor. His slippers had to be around there somewhere. He faintly recalled letting them fall off his feet as he’d collapsed into bed the night before. The bare hardwood floors were too cold to walk around barefoot on, fever or not.

Leaning forward in an attempt to look under his bed made him so dizzy he nearly fell _off_ it, but at least he figured out where his footwear had bounced too. He clumsily fished them out with his feet, clinging to his mattress in fear the contortions would make him fall over.

The next step was standing. Was he going to regret it?

He definitely regretted standing.

Why in the world had he decided to get out of bed again? He took a deep breath and the smell of smoke propelled him forward. His footsteps were a mere shuffle, his entire body one big ache, and the new position had apparently reclogged his nostrils. He attempted to take a deep breath through his mouth and had to muffle a cough instead, leaning on the wall for support. Gods above, but he _hated_ being sick. It wasn’t just the weakness and overall feeling of uselessness that got to him; it was the sheer amount of time it took for him to do anything. Even his thoughts churned more slowly than usual. Worse than molasses. Like cold tar, perhaps. Or putty. Some sort of horrible, oozing substance, anyway.

There was a banging sound from the kitchen just loud enough to make his head jerk up, and Ignis rode out the newest wave of dizziness as he shuffled forward a little further. Had his hallway always been this long? Surely not. It must have magically lengthened while he was asleep.

He should’ve just stayed in bed. It would’ve been easier to die in the fire.

The hallway finally ended, and he turned the corner to his kitchen. He leaned in the doorway to catch his breath, squinting in the bright overhead lights and wondering why everything was slightly out of focus. He could still see. It just looked like he’d forgotten his glasses.

…He’d forgotten his damn glasses.

He allowed himself a very, _very_ small sigh. And was greeted with another loud bang, followed immediately by a slightly quieter “Ow, shit!”

“Language,” Ignis said automatically, and only then did he process the voice as the prince’s.

“Cursing relieves pain,” Noct protested, popping up from behind the counter. One hand was rubbing slow circles on the back of his head. “I showed you that study.”

“Pretend you have dignity,” Ignis said, crossing his arms. He didn’t push himself off the doorway. He wasn’t certain he had the energy to do so, now that the faint fear of fire was fading. “Why are you destroying my kitchen?”

“I’m not _destroying it_ ,” Noct denied as something bubbled over on the stove behind him. “I’m _cooking_. Gladio said you were sick.”

Ignis stared. It was touching, he supposed, that the prince would insist on taking care of him while he was (supposed to be) bedridden, but it was wholly unnecessary. He could take care of himself no matter how sick he was. He’d always done so before.

“You should go lay down again, you look awful,” Noct said. Ignis blinked once, taken aback, and suddenly Noct was in front of him, putting a hand to his forehead and frowning. He looked far too worried for the situation. “Gees, how are you even standing? C’mon, I’ll bring you something to eat when it’s done.”

“My stove,” Ignis tried to protest, but the sentence got caught in his throat and he had to pull away to cough into his sleeve again instead. Noct made a little noise, of frustration or worry Ignis couldn’t tell. He was distracted by the strong arm Noct wrapped around his waist to hold him up, the firm shoulder that was suddenly shoved into his side, and he closed his eyes in defeat. Ignis wasn’t normally one to enjoy being touched, but this support was tolerable. At least it was from Noct, and Noct could get away with a lot of things.

Too many things, really.

The trip back to Ignis’ bedroom, with Noct supporting his unsteady steps, took half the time getting to the kitchen had. Ignis allowed himself to be deposited gently onto his bed. Noct hovered as he delicately laid himself down, then patted Ignis’ blankets into place in a distinctly mothering way. Ignis allowed himself a faint smile. Noct didn’t show how much he cared very often, and he tended to go over the top when he did.

But as soon as Noct rushed back out of the room to attend to the burning meal, Ignis flopped an arm over his eyes and groaned. Just a little, just enough to make him feel better. He wasn’t looking forward to the cleaning up he would have to do once Noct was gone.

He fell into a light doze, dreaming something unsettling about his pots and pans becoming sentient and trying to murder him, and woke with a start some time later as something clanked onto his bedside table.

“Dinner’s up!” Noct said, his voice too cheerful. “Why’d you have your arm over your eyes? Is the light bothering you? Do you need me to turn it off?”

“It’s fine,” Ignis said, and began pushing himself up. Noct attempted to help him, moving his pillow and straightening out the blankets on his legs, and just generally being so earnest about it Ignis couldn’t gather up the will to be annoyed. Then he was finally leaning up against his headboard, and a tray he barely remembered owning was placed into his lap with great ceremony.

He gave Noct a withering look for the dramatics, and Noct grinned back like he’d won something. Brat.

“I didn’t think you’d want a lot right now, so most of it’s in the fridge,” Noct said, gingerly sitting on the bed next to Ignis. He pushed a bowl of soup a little closer, making it slosh over the sides. “I hope I didn’t do too bad.”

Ignis took in Noct’s hopeful expression for a long moment, then picked up his spoon without saying a word. He stirred the soup slowly, noting to himself that it was a little watery, but didn’t hesitate when he lifted it to his mouth. He was fairly certain Noct wouldn’t manage to poison him, no matter how poor of a job he did.

The soup wasn’t bad, really. A bit bland, perhaps, and far too salty, but it was edible. And Noct had made it. Noct had, for whatever reason, traded a night of slacking off with his best friend for a night taking care of his sick advisor. It didn’t make the soup taste any better, and it didn’t make Ignis any less sick, but it meant something.

“It’s fine,” Ignis said, staring into the bowl and stirring it again. “Thank you for making it for me.”

Noct didn’t respond verbally, but he didn’t really need to. He just stole a small piece of the (burnt) toast sitting beside the soup bowl and settled himself next to Ignis like he belonged there. And, well, maybe he did.


End file.
